First Time
by Materioptikon
Summary: Rip Van Winkle and Tubalcain Alhambra, demonstrating why sometimes a rub and a kiss just won't help.
1. Alucard and Seras

Stretchin' the old romance muscle. Own nothing, makin' no profit. Enjoy. Read and review.

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-So, how was it?

-My first time, you mean, Master? I think you know full well. After all, in all this time, I thought you would have... em... ample experience with this stuff.

-Granted, Draculina. In my centuries of age I have always made it a point to try everthing. Sometimes once, sometimes more... So?

-...Do I have to answer to that, Master? I mean, it is a very special memory for me. How can I be expected to share such a unique moment, even with someone like you?

-Forgive the smirk, Draculina, but I do believe you are exaggerating. After all, even with your special companion here, what could have happened that I have not yet seen?

-Well, Master! Just look at the size! Don't tell me you've ever handled something like that.

-Hmph. The Turks were unique in that regard. This size, I, er... think, was their _standard_; not, perhaps, bigger, but quite interesting in action. Let me tell you, I did handle something like this once. Nowhere as fast or heavy, mind you, but I did thoroughly enjoy the experience and would certainly be willing to repeat it with your friend here. The sheer strength of good British produce can't even start to be compared to what the Turks had those days.

-Were you always such a dirty old man, Master? You're not giving in till I tell you how was it, will you?

-No, not really. Mind you, I'm proud of you for taming this beast, but I must confess I have a strong desire to give it a test myself. If only Integra would let me.

-Not a chance, Master. Where would you, for starters?

-Oh, I don't know. Abandoned London districts would be magnificent, especially if I had my say on what toys I could take. Failing that, I suppose a forest or a glen away from civilization would be magnificent. Nobody to interrupt or bother because of the noise. Humanity this days can be so annoying.

-I dunno. You alone with this monster? You'd make enough of a ruckus to raise the dead.

-Perhaps. Say, you... didn't have any trouble?

-Trouble? From inexperience, perhaps. To go for it the first time with such a tremendous thing is, well, quite unexpected. I just fell into a comfortable position and suddenly, well. How do you think it felt? I mean, at first, I was just setting in and preparing and then the thrusts and bumps or however you wanna call them started. And don't get me started on when I decided to go for the second part! Honestly, if I hadn't had a good footing, I would have fallen down to the floor in the middle of it all. How d'ya think I'd have felt then?

-Well, it would certainly be a mortifying situation. How did everyone seeing you react?

-Cheers and shouts of triumph, all wanting me to go on and on and on. Damn voyeurs. But on I went and it all went down perfectly. Greatest moment of my life. The flashes and light really made me believe it was a once in a lifetime happening. I mean, the photos taken were quite spectacular!

-I won't correct you. It must have been a truly unique event, and I envy you for bearing such an important part in it. Integra must, too.

-Yes, she said so herself. She's still quite proud of me for my cool-headedness in such a crucial moment. Never letting go until my part was finally realized.

-And yet with all eyes fixed upon you, with the full weight and power hammering you, you did it. Well, to be frank, I might have not done it so fast. I would have taken my time and played for a bit, have my fill of fun on an experience not likely to ever be repeated.

-So I gather. You'd have pushed everybody to their limits; every onlooker, this old lug, and even yourself. With a smile and gusto in your face I can only imagine.

-Won't deny that either. I'd probably end up drooling and screaming like a banshee. And talking about screaming...

-No. I didn't. Just clenched my teeth, held on to the pressure and kept with it until it was all over.

-Alucard. Commander Victoria. Having fun?

-Why, yes, Sir Integra. Just discussing the time I used the Harkonnen II.

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Gotcha. Happy holidays, people.


	2. Integra and Walter

And on we go. If I get another dirty idea like this or chapter one, rest assured it's gonna pop up around here. Read and review. Make my day shine brighter.

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-Huff... huff...

-Sir Integra? Oh, Lord, Sir, excuse me. I had no idea...

-No... huff, Walter, it's fine. I'm, huff... almost done anyway. Just a little more. It's just a quickie.

-...

-Hmmph... Walter?

-Yes, Sir Integra?

-You're fidgeting.

-Well, yes, I do suppose I am. But honestly, Sir, I'm not supposed to tolerate this kind of behavior in someone your age! What would your father say?

-Oh, hush! Honestly, Walter, you're talking as if you didn't know this kind of flavor! And what does age have to do with this? I'm perfectly responsible for my own decisions.

-...

-Oh, and my father. We both know he was a bloody addict to the feeling of a fine king-size.

-Sir Integra, that language...!

-Damnation, butler! What are you trying to imply? I'm perfectly fine, and I just want to enjoy this fag in holy peace before I have to deal with that blasted vampire!

Walter sweated. Integra was clearly quite stressed if she needed that kind of satisfaction. And on went the huffing.

-And for Heaven's sake... ahhh... you used to do this much more than I do. Five times a day... sigh... Angel of Death? Quite a record at... huff... fourteen?

Walter, to his credit, stayed silent for a while, until at long last he dared again to speak timidly.

-Those... well, those were different times, Sir Integra. Things like that weren't looked down upon and even sometimes encouraged.

-What can I respond to that? Haaa... If I have to deal with the consequences... hmmm... so be it. It's not like I actually could go through a week... huff... in this goddamned, thankless job... hrmph... without this kind of pleasure, the kind of satisfaction I can only find in this...

Walter sighed as Integra continued, even slightly moaning at one point.

-Sir Integra! Control yourself! A British lady should control herself at all times, even when engaging in this kind of... reproachable behavior!

Integra nearly cackled with laughter.

-Reproachable behavior! Reproachable behavior indeed, you old John Bull! Huuuh... though, do tell, I've wanted to know for a while... how did you break off the habit?

-Habit, Sir Integra? I did this with who I wanted, where I wanted, when I wanted. I simply decided it wasn't worth doing anymore.

-Not worth it? My, Walter. I do pity you. Then again, what was it then you enjoyed? Cheap Londonderry butts are nothing compared to a long and hot Cuban.

-Sir Integra? You know, I've always wondered... how the hell did you start doing this? And why? I mean, did I fail you as a guardian? Was this ever really necessary?

-Walter... hnnn... making melodramas like this... haaa... you really _are _getting old. Fine. It was... not long after my father's death... ahhh... you know, the Cavertons came one day, and I hid in a broom closet with him, the elder son... until we got to a more... hmmh... private place... the gardens... you were busy with the parents... Oh, God... it was there where I had my first time... Lord, the sheer feeling, the excitement, the anxiety of doing it in such a public place where we could easily get caught, oh, Walter... huuu...

-Understood. It's Sir John Caverton now, isn't it? All right then, another person I have to kill before I die.

-You will do no such thing. We still... are very... haaa... good friends...

-Sir Integra, I really don't want to do this, but... damn, your father would have had me killed if I didn't do this...

-What? No, butler! _Stop, I order you!_

He flicked his wires. Dextrously, his hands flew into the air, twisting and pulling at the wires until Integra's partner slowly fell to pieces.

-Damn you, Walter! This was a Henry Winterman cigar! You know how expensive they are?


	3. Zorin and the Major

'Scuse me, people, but I have been having serious block problems. Fear not, next week you are getting the next chapter of "On Gunslingers and Monsters", "Arcana", and a new oneshot called "The Land of Happy Endings". Each is a very heavy piece and I really want to give each everything I've got so you get the maximum satisfaction.

Still owning nothing. Read and review, please.

* * *

Zorin sighed in plain frustration as she trudged along a large cloth sack she had been handed over for delivery. Normally she's hack in half anybody who dared to ask such a thing of her with her scythe, but it was a special delivery for the Major. Some random underling had popped in the middle of the hall and went down his merry way while leaving the sack to her and the place to be taken. Even more annoying, the room was in a sector of the Millennium base she had rarely visited, and thus didn't know very well.

Eventually, she found the place she was looking for. She knocked. From inside, the content voice of the Major replied:

-Come in, it ist open!

She opened the door.

And gaped.

It wasn't like she could merely stand there and do what she wanted to, really. She wondered what the hell was the utterly repugnant garment the Major was wearing. The offending thing clung obscenely in all the wrong places, and Zorin, much to her own horror, found herself wondering what material gave that disgusting excuse for apparel its distinctive surface. PVC, or latex, at first, she thought. But then, in the stronger light of the room, she realized that, in fact, the monstrosity was almost pure rubber with some metal thrown in.

And that wasn't the worst, oh, no. The Major held in his hand a heavy wooden pallet, and brought it down with controlled, dedicated strength into the reddened, exposed flesh in his lap.

Schrodinger only smiled as the pallet hit his rump. His rump, his rump, how funny. He giggled.

WHAP!

-Ja, Fraulein Lieutenant?

WHAP!

Zorin almost gagged when she saw Schrodinger moan. She did, however, back at the sight of the catboy actually licking his lips.

WHAP!

-Ist somethink ze problem, Zorin?

-Uh... herr Major... umm... excuse me... but in all honesty I find zis hobby of yours wery distubing.

Schrodinger, purring, stopped his reverie and stared at Zorin.

-Vell, I zink this ist un of ze most original idea ze Bataillon has had in a looong time.

The Major simply smiled with his most beatific grin.

-Und besides zat, I find ze fact you haf never done zis even more disturbing. For somebody vith your... tendencies, shall we charitably call them, hmm? Ah, vell, I digress. Ze point ist zat you haf never experienced the sheer joy of doing zis. Perhaps you vould like to try?

-Ahh... all right. But only if you can explain to me the need for that... thing!

-What? Zis poor little piece of apparel, Lieutenant? Vhy. It's to avoid getting splashed by blood.

Zorin, trembling with shame and fear, asked.

-Ist it necessary to hit it so hard as to draw blood? Mein Gott, Major, there are things for zat! Vhy not use un mallet?

-Mallets are too coarse, lieutenant. Now, a pallet... it ist indeed the right tool. Observe.

WHAP!

WHAP!

-I... see. Herr Major, if it isn't un embarrasing question... how did you start doing zis?

The Major smiled.

-Meine Mutter und Ich did zis for hours at ze old home in Vienna. Everybody used to do this back then, Zorin. Very few had the luxuries to try something more... elaborate. Though, I did hear of of some people wealthy enough to try different stuffs. My, ist zat my bag?

-Ja, herr Major.

Gleefully, he extended a nearby knife to Zorin and gestured to her to cut the cloth open. As she did, a very considerable amount of elongated and bulbous shapes of various colors fell to the ground. Green, orange, purple and brown were only but part of the contents of the bag. Zorin, slightly embarrased, started picking up the items, without denying each disgusted her in the extreme. Eventually, between the whaps and Schrodinger's drooling, she had picked up everything and laid it in the table next to the Major.

He pinched the rump before him.

-Und I think it is now tender enough. Vhat do you think? Schrodinger? Zorin?

Zorin, gingerly, pressed a finger to the flesh.

-It seems soft enough. Vhat are you using it for?

The Major set aside the wooden surface he had been keeping on his lap, removed the thin plastic covering and declared:

-Why, it ist ze Varrant Officer's Christmas Dinner. Roasted rump. I am personally supervising the menu for everybody, Zorin. You get, I think, un delightful, piece of deer und a bottle of Montrachet with a liter of O Rh negative. Strictly carnivorous, not an ounce of vegetables anywhere. Vould you please pass me the carrots over there? Oh, and please bring the big knife from over there so I can cut the other vegetables. Just let me slip out of zis horrid apron.

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What? What were you thinking? Get yer mind outta the gutter, ya filthy people!


	4. Luke and Jan

Hello there. I really don't know whether I should continue doing this. There's going to be at least another chapter for my and hopefully your amusement. See, today I found out there was a real serious mistake with the next OGaM installment and I preferred to correct it rather than post a flawed text I would have corrected anyway. Enjoy this. Next week you all get OGaM, another hit of this and Arcana. Enjoy in the meantime.

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Luke Valentine hissed in rage.

Jan was going to die.

He was next door down the hall, Megadeth music blaring, along with Carrie, the landlady's daughter. On a damn noisy mattress. Luke tried for the umpteenth time to focus on the rows of numbers before him and ground his teeth when another blast of sound scared him enough to ruin the sheet he was working on. Ripping it furiously, he copied out his scant progress on a new sheet, and fished out a small Walkman from his desk so he could hopefully drown Dave Mustaine's screeches and wails into an aria by Verdi or the _Ride of the Valkyries._

Instead, a riff by Motley Crue invaded his eardrums.

Jan was going to die. Just let Carrie leave, so Mrs. Hutchins could be none the wiser...

The bed kept on squeaking. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

And Luke swat away the notebook. He knew Jan too well. In that point, he was just amping up the music and the bed's groaning just so he could have his shot at infuriating Luke.

He was having prodigous success in his endeavours.

Luke walked off into the bathroom in the hall. And the bed kept on squeaking.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

He gathered some water in his hands and threw it to his face. It helped very little. He mustered his patience for Carrie's sake. He sighed and tried to endure some more. Resignedly, he walked off into the kitchen so he could have at least some of the leftover juice from the morning. Opening the fridge, he saw the carton of his favorite juice lying tantalizingly in the middle of the cluster of foods of various ages. He extended his hand...

And the carton jumped into his hand with the lightness only emptiness could bring.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Luke calmly folded the tetrapak and dumped it. Jan was going to die, he really, really was... just let Carrie leave...

The feminine screams of joy coming from Jan's room were makin it more and more difficult...

Returning to his room, he again forced himself to sit down and try to reassess the problem before him. He realized he could do it a tad faster if he could find the book he was using as a supplement, and rummaged around the room to find it. Then he saw the corner of said book poking out from under his bed and pulled it out.

The book was soaked.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Everything and everybody has limits. Luke Valentine found his that moment.

Snarling in fury, he swatted open the door and kicked the next door open. Mentally, he apologized to Carrie for what he was going to do.

-QUIT IT! ENOUGH!

-Luke!

-Carrie. Out.

-But we were just having some fun!

-Yah! At my expense! Out!

-You're no fun, Luke!

-Out!

And the two Valentine siblings were left alone as Carrie gathered her stuff and left into the hall. Luke wanted to punch Jan into oblivion just as payback. Sighing, he realized he had to settle for less. Much, much less.

The indignity.

-Down.

Jan remained obtusively unmoving.

-Get. Down. From. The. Bed.

The younger Valentine's confidence slowly shattered. After a moment of key struggling, he obeyed. With a flick, Luke turned off the stereo and intently stared into his younger brother's eyes. Sighing, he realized that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't do much against him.

-Don't leave the friggin' empty juice carton in the fridge. Don't. Ever. Touch. My. Stuff. Ever. Don't play music that loud ever again. Carrie isn't coming back for a long while and when Mom sees what you did to my book you're getting grounded forever. And above all, never, _ever,_ **_jump like that on top of the fucking bed again!_**

And the five-year old Jan remained transfixed, silent, incapable of understanding what he had done wrong. Always on the bad side of his brother. Only because he was a year and a half older. And then there was a flash of illumination unlike everything he had seen or heard in his life. A light that told him what to do to even the scales and put everything back in balance.

Or at least bugger his brother out of his mind.

-_Fuck you, bro!_

* * *

Ladies and gentlemen, a historical moment for every Hellsing fan: Jan Valentine's first "Fuck you" ever.


	5. Maxwell and Anderson

Hello there. As always, I'm here to bugger you again. And I'm not gonna leave without my reviews. Gimme reviews. Feed. Make me feel appreciated and I will make it worth our while.

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Anderson wondered how he had gotten into this. His Eminence, Bishop of the Catholic Church, Leader of Section XIII Iscariot, Enrico Maxwell, and himself, were both shirtless and nearly naked, sweating gallons, in the same inconceivably tight space. The moans of the man and the rising heat were not helping the atmosphere in the slightest.

-Anderson... I... I think...

-Yes... yer Grace?

-I have... this weird, weird idea, that... oh God, the heat... might just pan out...

-I'm... all ears, yer Grace...

Maxwell, between pants and moans, had managed to get across the gist of the message. Anderson, despite himself, managed to grin, a smile so wide it nearly seemed to divide his face.

And he had heeded the bishop's orders and lunged with a singular lack of warning. As Anderson shot the first thrust forward, Maxwell managed to utter:

-Ahhh! Faster! Harder, Anderson, harder! The heat's... unbearable!

And the paladin had promptly ignored anything beyond that. It was a contest of strength now, to see who dared yield first, and Anderson had no intention of losing. In between biting his lip to avoid betraying his weakness, Maxwell screeched between heaving breaths:

-Damn you, you miserable paladiiin! Can't-can't you even obey th-this? Faaaster! Harder! Ha-aaa...arder!

And Anderson complied to the best of his own abilities. Despite his own superhuman strength, it was plainly obvious he was not going to have much more time before he gave in to exhaustion. Grinding his teeth, he renewed his resolve to fulfil his orders and continued to hit his mark. Once and again and again.

Suddenly, a sudden noise with an ensuing lurch, alerted both of them. It wasn't going to last much longer. Anderson braced for the inevitable breakdown and hammered away with more force than before. Maxwell himself panted and drooled uncontrollably despite his initial efforts to control himself. Whimpering, he again clamored:

-Yes! You're doing it, Anderson! Faster! Faster! Harder! I'm... I'm almost at my limit!

-So... so am Ah, Yer Grace!

And then, equally fast, cold air rushed into their lungs, and both arched in the moment of inconceivable pleasure as it all ended and lassitude invaded their limbs. Fallen into the floor, Maxwell moaned between pants:

-An... Anderson... Do... do you think... you can... keep on that? Just... just a bit more... Keep at it, man...

But Anderson's expression spoke volumes. Despite his own superhuman endurance, the paladin was completely drained. Maxwell acidly contented himself with swallowing.

And then the doors were opened.

The speed with which both men ran out was incredible, even for grown men their size and as worn out as they were. Outside, Yumiko, Heinkel and a third person stared at them, utterly astonished. The jaws of all three had dropped the moment the doors had opened and Maxwell and Anderson managed to stumble out. In the sharpest, most scathing voice Maxwell could manage, he hissed between teeth:

-What the hell took you imbeciles so long?

-Your Eminence, your clothes...

-Yumiko, shut up. WHERE. WERE. _**YOU?**_

-We... we were looking for the elevator repairman, Bishop...

Seizing the man by the throat, Anderson pinned him to the wall and asked furiously:

-You were responsible for this elevator?

The terrified repairman managed to signal he wasn't.

-Ve didn't manage to get th' regular one, Father...

-Never mind that, Heinkel. Pay this man. And the another one, have him fired and his name sullied so he can never find work again. Making elevator doors so secure not even Anderson can open them is a very good thing. Making them so nothing can open them, _with me inside..._

-Und... th' hole on th' ceiling?

-Thanks for reminding me. The same goes for the man who had the elevator's air conditioning to be heated to fifty degrees with me and Anderson inside for three hours. Thank God Anderson managed to break the vent to let fresh air in.

And as both men gathered their clothes and vanished in the direction of the nearest bathroom, Maxwell spat in pure rage:

-_And this never happened!_

* * *

Again, I present to you another of the great moments of Hellsing. The first time, ever, Maxwell ever joined Anderson in an elevator. Needless to say, it was also the last.


	6. The Captain and Schrodinger

Don't know if it's any good or not. Let's see if between all the junk I'm spouting out today I can get to make you laugh.

Read and review.

* * *

The Captain strode across the Millennium base hall as silently as he could. Silence came naturally to him, but this time he was holding a special parcel he had to order through very special channels. Sparing a thought for the rather unique video he was carrying inside his coat, he passingly thanked any deity overeeing him for gratefully sparing anybody else the knowledge of the rather lively contents of the tape he was checking out. He had heard much of the artists performing on the video and had gone to great lengths to receive a copy without having any of the Millennium echelons learn anything about it.

While he personally could care less about the opinion of the others, he was truly irritated by the talk the extremely graphic cover of the video alone would surely spawn. The damn thing had cost him more in delivery than by the contents themselves, but it had been worth every penny and would practically pay for itself with the sheer value of the relaxation and pleasure the Captain hoped he would get with it. Passingly, he entered his own private chambers (something he saw more of a bother than an asset, except for the times he desperately needed this kind of self-gratification and fulfilment), checked his training and official schedule and confirmed he would be free for the evening. Briefly opening the door and glancing down the hall, he duly noted he was perfectly alone. Mentally, he ticked off the Millenium lieutenants as they were otherwise engaged.

Rip Van Winkle and the Doctor were having an autopsy.

The Major and Schrodinger were in the former's office listening to the War Orchestra records.

Zorin was sparring with Jan Valentine.

Luke Valentine and Alhambra were down on Rio's biggest Casino.

He sighed in relief and prepared the setting for the oh, so rare evening dedicated to him and him alone. He closed the curtains, prepared a tub full of hot water and a tape of Verdi. After a lengthy session of letting the warmth seep in and ease his ached joints, he exited the bathroom, dried up and put on what accrued to be a relatively small piece of cloth, anticipating he would need something along those lines if he wanted to truly enjoy himself.

He popped in the video.

Several men started a rather brusque introduction to the video, to "ease" viewers to the true show. The Captain scoffed at the rather generic dialogue and perked up when it all began. Briefly smiling, the behemoth stared at the several men in attire of very questionable standards began moving. The group moved rather slowly, never amping the rhythm of their twists, jerks and thrusts beyond a certain limit. The Captain's smile broadened. Despite the rather inane intro, the men were clearly very good at what they did. Somewhat sheepishly at first, he raised his left leg, imitating the movements of the lead, telling to himself it was only to see if he could do the same. With a slow, slightly painful tensing of his spine, he managed to twist himself in a similar way. Despite being somewhat mortified with himself, he continued.

And somewhere within himself, the old soldier was having the delight of a lifetime.

The routine had hardly gone on for more than half an hour when a high-pitched voice piped in.

-Herr Kapitaaaan!

And the werewolf's body momentarily tensed, and only with very, very rigidly controlled jerks, the Captain avoided a highly painful spasm.

Schrodinger. The cat-boy whose inability to understand the term "personal space" marked him as the number one person the Captain had to deal with.

-Herr Kapitaaan! Oh, sehr gut. Here... uhhh... here you are.

The catboy had promptly materialized next to the Captain, who resignedly paused the video and sat down in a lotus position to hear what the little abomination had to say. He got promptly ignored as Schrodinger's gaze glued on the TV and the image it kept displaying. Sighing with the pain of knowledge of what came next, the Captain began drumming his fingers in abject anticipation of the dread to come when the pest blabbed about his secret hobby to the entire base.

-Ummm. Herr... herr Major ist looking for you...

The towering soldier closed his eyes and rose. He opened his old dresser and disgustedly threw an uniform into the bed.

Sitting on the mat where the Captain had been sprawled, Schrodinger asked:

-Vhat ist zis, herr Kapitan?

As he again threw on the huge overcoat, the Captain rubbed the bridge of his nose and pointed to the box of the video. Schrodinger studied it with some attention and carefully laid it out again with some feeling between respect and squickiness to the top of the TV. Slightly put off by the pictures in the box, he childishly asked:

-Do I vant to know about zis or am I not old enough?

The Captain prized himself in being a reasonable, tolerating person.

So instead of ripping Schrodinger's arms out of their sockets, he merely opened his door and literally punted Schrodinger out of his room.

The astonished catboy remained several moments unable to cope with the fact he had been forcefully evicted in such an egregious manner. But his mind kept drifting back to the image he'd seen, frozen in the Captain's TV. Passingly, the temptation to return in there and see a bit more of it crossed his mind, but he decided he'd only enrage the werewolf if he did that. As an afterthought, he imitated in passing what he'd seen the men in the video do, earning himself more than a few grossed out glances from nearby soldiers.

This only served to confuse Schrodinger more. Why on Earth was the Captain seeing a video of nearly-naked men doing what seemed to be really gross gymnastics?

Two buildings to the side, the Doctor and Rip were suturing the empty corpse of a former underling who'd failed to make the cut, when the catboy materialized behind both of them, eyes really, really round. After the brief initial scare, the Doctor furiously asked:

-What on Earth are you doing here, Warrant Officer? Shouldn't you be with the Major?

The catboy opened and closed his jaw a few times as he thought of how to formulate his question. He settled on asking Dok what the title of the video meant.

-Dok, what's yoga?

* * *

Ladies and gentlemen, the first time the Captain tried an alternative form of relaxation. For those interested, he eventually settled on Tai Chi.


	7. Rip and Alhambra

Hello there. See if this teensy experiment works. If it does, send a notice. If it doesn't, send a notice anyway. Apologies for the long wait. Exams, writer's block and _Shin Megami Tensei _will do that to ya. Uploading all-new, previously unrevealed _Arcana _and _On Gunslingers and Monsters _chapters today, too. Check it all out.

Own nothing, and I don't make a thin red dime. Weep with me or throw a review to this end of the woods.

* * *

Rip Van Winkle sobbed, desperately sobbing as she knelt between Tubalcain Alhambra's legs. Chittering with tears in her eyes as one of her hands gingerly stroked Alhambra's crotch, she desperately leant in, clasping one of his as she gently kissed it.

-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I really didn't want zis to happen! I am so sorry, _Herr _Alhambra! I didn't want to make you like zis! It's all my fault! I should have realized...!

And the man himself clamped shut his eyes, denying with all the fervor a man could muster such a situation was ocurring to him. In the games section of the Millennium compund, no less.

But as he kept feebly trying to push the Huntress away, the more she insisted in frantically rubbing the space between his legs, and in pushing away the hand he firmly kept there.

Biting his lip to avoid a soul-wrenching moan, Alhambra grunted:

-_¡Señorita Teniente Van Winkle, por favor! _You... aghhh! You're making it worse!

-Please let me make it all better, _Herr _Alhambra! I... I'm going to help you! I just have to rub it a bit!

-_¡No! Por favor..._ just leave me! Unfff!

Tears dripping from her face, Van Winkle grabbed his hand and begged:

-I have to help you get over this! Please let me help!

And Alhambra, against his will, let out a plaintive cry. Gently, he whispered:

-Won't... won't do any good. Please, get ice! Ice, I... ahhh, ahhh! I beg you!

Finally losing whatever tiny scraps remained of her cool, Rip van Winkle asked furiously:

-VHAT ON EARTH IST ICE SUPPOSED TO DO ZAT A KISS UND A RUB VON'T?

And that exact instant, the door opened, revealing the Doctor in all his awful glory.

-What the...?

-Oh, _Herr Doktor, Herr Doktor!_

Dropping his bag, the Bataillon's official physician remained there with his jaw gaping open.

-What is going in here?

-Oh, Dok! _Herr_ Alhambra und I vere playing, ve vere just playing!

-Lieutenant! Calm down. Now, Alhambra, what on Earth happened here?

Subduing his grunts and heaves to the maximum of his capacity, Alhambra hissed:

-We... we were playing. Only playing.

-I hear that. Aaaand?

Sighing painedly, Alhambra admitted:

-The ball took a nasty deflection and hit me in the crotch. Unff! Really, ahh, see? I'm fine! I'm fine! I... I just need a little ice...

As the Gambler limped away with whatever dignity he still had from the tennis court, the sobbing Van Winkle collected the strewn racquets and stared at him.

-VHY VON'T HE LET ME HELP?

* * *

And that's the first time Millennium had any notice of Rip Van Winkle's yangire side. And that's terrible.


End file.
